


Rennite

by KoboldKing



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Grimdark Setting, Rewrite, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 10:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16742305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoboldKing/pseuds/KoboldKing
Summary: 'Daemon' was once just a word.





	Rennite

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-write of the opening chapter of a story I wrote back in 2011, based on the worldbuilding of a collaborative sci-fi wiki I was a part of. [You can see the original opening chapter here.](https://pastebin.com/1G7m5HPQ)
> 
> The original, if you could believe it, was what I considered the absolute peak of my writing ability. I decided to give the setting and grimdark emotion of the piece a second go just to see how I'd go about writing it today.

Dolen remembered when 'Daemon' was just a word.

Screams of abject suffering sounded from a stump about two hundred miks away; as a recording of an injured Rennite it would serve as a lure to any number of the twisted creatures that lived to torment them.

Not to other Rennites, of course. By now the bulk of them knew better than to be heroes.

The recording chased away the other sounds of the swamp, leaving Dolen with little but the cries of a long-dead child to tune out. None of the singing creatures that once lived here were as loud as they once were anyway. Daemon efforts had wiped out most of the ecology of the planet, save for trees—useful for free oxygen—and the very most resilient of scavengers.

He sat in the top of a tall and twisted tree, hidden behind its dense foliage with a rifle gripped in his paws. He himself, he believed, was about as resilient a scavenger as they came. During the days of the Daemon first contact he'd been fortunate not to be anywhere near a large city, and had even managed to steer clear of the bombings. Surviving alone in the wilderness had been all that saved him, along with any other Rennites still fending off extinction day by day.

He remembered when he'd used to delve into these swamps for recreation. Little had he known in those carefree days that ancient myths would return and make his hobby a brutal reality.

The climate had changed considerably since then. It was hotter—he felt sweat dripping through his fur, almost but not quite indistinguishable from the humidity in the air. In times past the planet of the Rennites had been far less severe, and temperatures had rarely strayed into the upper bounds needed to make them uncomfortable. As it turned out a barrage of Hellfire Bombs could have very long lasting effects on a defenseless planet. Only the toxic swamps of the equator had thrived in this new world, and they'd expanded to cover most of the globe.

He should feel angry... shouldn't he? His world wasn't the one he'd grown up with. It was burnt. Decayed. Dying.

Somehow bitterness was less important than survival.

So he still he remained motionless, listening past the recorded screams for anything that might come skulking out of the deeper swamps. The swamp trees were the only natives that had taken the invasion in stride, but the Daemons themselves lived in increasingly prodigious numbers. It wasn't just Grakk anymore. Those had been mere foot soldiers and had largely died off or been cannibalized by their commanding officers in the aftermath of the invasion. As it was now, Dolen was far from certain what horrors could come out of the dark treeline.

His body remained motionless in the canopy, caught in the tension both of a predator lying in ambush and a very small, very defenseless prey animal lost in the woods.

Lower forms of Daemon were easy pickings. Grakk were the bottom caste, given neither valuable equipment nor brains by their breeders. Their scavengings made up the bulk of what Dolen carried—their equipment was worthless by Daemon standards, but to a Rennite they were the weapons of a god.

A Korgrath was a different beast. As the officer caste they were far more heavily armed and armored. There wasn't a single conceivable action Dolen could take against one of them; the average Korgrath could kill him and everything else in this forest from one breath to the next.

One of the great Gehennians could do the same to the entire planet.

And so as Dolen heard wood snapping from behind the treeline he let his fear and hatred take equal control.

The Daemons showed themselves in a rush. To his relief they were a breed of Grakk; these were called Kappa.

Horrifying, wretched beasts they were. Slimy amphibious skin was stretched across a quadrupedal shape, running less like an advanced alien lifeform and more like a feral beast. It splashed through the swamp, swimming in places with its webbed feet and fins, a gaping slavering jaw bent to give the impression of a razor-toothed grin.

There was a whole pack of them today. The Kappa rushed around the stump where the recording played, letting out whoops of enjoyment. A terrified Rennite child, Dolen knew, could entertain them for hours if they were careful about the damage they inflicted. The thing about monsters bred to kill was that they'd soon run out of living things, and what limited intellect they had would have to go into drawing out their remaining supply as long as possible.

Every once in a while Dolen would wonder who had made the Daemons. Did they know they were unleashing a species entirely devoted to slaughter and torture upon an unsuspecting multiverse? But in the end, it was hard to care. Whatever their intentions had been, only this brutal reality remained.

The Kappa were beginning to grow angry, realizing somewhere in their dim brains that they'd been tricked. They were leaping up and down in a frenzy, digging claws into their own skin and crying out with rage.

He should feel disgusted... shouldn't he? The Kappa were everything a living thing should not be. Insane, deformed, and without a trace of compassion.

Somehow he couldn't bring himself to feel disgust anymore. All his eyes took stock of were the crude blasters they carried, the simple equipment strapped to their sides. Yes, this would make a good day's scavenging.

He released the breath he'd been holding for the last hour. Rennites had been an aquatic species, and that had its perks. He counted seven Kappa, aimed his rifle with old familiarity, and fired seven shots.

The Daemon rifle had no recoil but sent a flaming missile firing faster than sound through the swamp air. Its crack rang out even over the recorded screams, and the orange streak ended in a Kappa skull. The creature kept thrashing even as its body died, splashing down into the mud with garbled cries.

The others pulled out weapons and fired blindly into the forest. Their shots pulverized tree trunks and almost seemed to set fire to the air itself. The inferno blazed and spread steam and flying wood splinters in all directions, but Dolen didn't let the possibility of sudden obliteration distract him.

He kept firing until the last Kappa collapsed into the mud, claws futilely reaching for its weapon as its life bled away.

Only when the last one was still did Dolen move again, slinging his rifle onto his back. With a quick paw he pressed a button on his bandolier and turned off the screaming.

The swamp was finally quiet. An eerie silence mixed with the gloom of smoke and steam, and the smell of burnt Daemon flesh was all that Dolen's nostrils could pick up on.

...that should be a sweet smell, shouldn't it? They'd burned everything. It was only right that they burn as well.

Somehow... the multiverse didn't work that way. All he felt as he descended the tree was the faint ghost of satisfaction. They carried good equipment, for Grakk. He might live another week. Maybe a month. Maybe a year.

There was no point to what he was doing. The deaths of seven Kappa would never even register upon a Daemon's ledger. They were not inconvenienced; they were not any further away from whatever their ultimate goals were, if they even had ultimate goals.

There was no Rennite rebellion. There was barely a Rennite race.

But for one more day, there was _a_ Rennite and his name was Dolen. For one more day the Daemons had failed to erase him from the multiverse.

He remembered when 'Daemon' was just a word. A whisper in the myths of a universe.

Now 'Daemon' was a reality the multiverse had to deal with.

But so still was 'Rennite.'

 


End file.
